In Between
by Synthetic Cake
Summary: After a series of casual encounters with France, England finds himself once again baring the frog's child. Now he's trying to decide - let France help him raise it, raise it alone, or let in the American he's been shutting out all this time. FrxUKxUS
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, all! I'm back, with an addiction to Hetalia this time. And my love for mpreg has returned with it.**

**So, I decided to started this story - it's based on an RP I've been doing that follows similar events. I'm going to try to update this once a week...either every Monday or every Friday. Hopefully, if I try to keep a deadline I'll actually stick with it. Eheheh...**

**So..yeah...the main triangle in this is FrancexEnglandxAmerica. However, I'll warn you that it's more likely to turn out as FrUK than USUK. **

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><p>England rolled over in his bed with a groan. Almost immediately he wished he hadn't moved; his stomach doing multiple flip-flops. He nearly heaved right in the bed, but managed to hold it down until the nausea subsided. Slowly, so carefully, he sat up and glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty five. His body pleaded with him to go back to sleep, but the Brit ignored his body's protests and got out of bed.<p>

"Why does the morning have to come so bloody early?" he muttered to himself. It only felt like a couple hours ago that he finally stopped thinking about getting himself a nice warm mug of hot cocoa and dozed off. Last time he looked at the clock, it had been going on three-thirty, so it was likely…

"Hey, England…" The Brit nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice - although he wondered how he heard it in the first place. Must have been the silence of the room. Spinning around, he saw the violet-blue eyed blond staring back at him timidly.

"Oh, just you…" England breathed out. How could he forget that he was staying at Canada's?

"I just came to see if you were awake," Canada said in his whispering tone. The tone that he used about seventy percent of the time. The other thirty percent was mostly hockey and after he had guzzled down a few Molson Canadians. "I can see you are so…breakfast?"

England nodded slowly. "Ye-yes. Just let me dress first."

"Oui," Canada responded without thinking. Before England could chew him out for using French around him, Canada had left the room.

_I shouldn't yell at him, anyway,_ England thought to himself as he began to strip off his night clothes and change into a new set of clothes. _After all, who knows what would of happened if he didn't help me?_ His hand went up to the bandage wrapped around his head. Just four days before, Canada had gone to England's place to find the Brit unconscious in the den. The wound on his head had come from him hitting his head on an end table as he went down. The unconsciousness had been due to a lack of proper nutrition in his state.

_His state._

A wave of anger washed over England. He was _pregnant._ Knocked up, bun in the oven…how ever one would like to put it. And it was all that frog's fault. Not his own, of course; the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland would never seek release from that pervert. The idea of casual sex was all France's idea. Every single time it happened over the years.

After finding out about the pregnancy, Canada resolved to make sure that his father figure would take the rest he need in order to recuperate from the shock(and to get some actual food in him). The Canuck had assured England that he didn't mind it - being an invisible nation got mighty lonely - so England hesitantly complied.

When England reached Canada's kitchen, he was immediately assaulted by the smell of maple sausages cooking. "Wh-why couldn't it of been French toast?" he muttered under his breath, managing to stumble his way to the table and sit down.

"Tea, England?" Canada asked

"Coffee," the British nation muttered in response, making the Canuck start in surprise.

"Coffee?" Canada repeated. He then remembered the night before; when England had been set into a fit of vomiting from the very smell of tea brewing. The maple lover half expected England to just plain quit all hot drinks, but one had to get their caffeine somehow…

Maybe England would even go to Tim Horton's with him, now?

"So…when are you planning to tell France?" Canada asked. He set the coffee cup and a plate of sausages in front of England before getting his own, identical breakfast.

"I don't think there's a need to tell him at all!" England spat, his enormous brows furrowing in anger.

Canada held up his hands. "Easy, easy…I'm just saying…he has a right to know."

"'Has a right to know' my arse!" England took a bite of the sausage - but immediately wished he hadn't. The smoky maple smell assaulted his nose, and the very taste made his stomach churn. He did not want to seem like he was insulting his host's cooking, however; so he kept quiet.

"I-I'm sorry, but…" There was Canada's shyer side; making the bilingual nation stutter. Of course, England knew that Canada's desire to remain a peacekeeper would override his shyness. At least, while one-on-one. "B-but you're being a little irrational. You know that France needs to know…"

"Bloody hell." England sighed and took a sip of the coffee, curling his nose at the bitter taste. Somehow, the smell of it was soothing, however. "I don't want him to know. I don't want him to raise it. He'd probably rape the bloody thing."

"He never did such thing to me," Canada pointed out. "And he raised me for several years."

"Well…well…!" England sputtered furiously. His voice trailed off into a groan as he held his stomach. Immediately Canada sprung to his feet and led the island nation to the bathroom - knowing what was to come.

It wasn't the first time Canada had told hold England's hair back for him - even before he was pregnant. Most nations agreed that England drank like a fish, especially during the entire month of July(and on some years, from half way through June and well into August). There has been several unfortunate occasions where Canada happened to accompany England during those drinking binges.

"I'm sorry…Canada," England choked out as he collapsed against the toilet seat, desperately trying to catch his breath. "I know you don't want to see…" His sides heaved once more, but it was obvious that there was nothing left.

"Maybe something lighter to eat?" Canada suggested soothingly, but was only answered by a groan. Deciding that his previous parental figure needed a moment to rest, Canada gave the Brit a quick pat on the back and stood up to dampen a face cloth. He knelt down again. "Let me wash your face," he said gently. England said nothing in response, but turned his head to face the Canadian.

_Poor guy is exhausted,_ Canada thought with a frown as he wiped the tears and snot from the Englishman's face. _He's so skinny; I bet he got tired easily before all this…_

"I'm alright, Canada," England said as the shyer nation finished cleaning his face. "It is out of my system now." He begin to pull himself to his feet, cursing himself for the sudden light-headedness.

"It's not pleasant either way." Canada carefully helped the Brit hobble back to the kitchen. He could easily lift him up, but he was sure that England wanted to keep at least _some_ of his dignity. He sat England into his chair and took away the plate of hardly-touched sausages - hoping that would be enough to keep the smell away from him.

"I don't remember the last one being this bad," Canada heard England muttering. "And it was bloody twins."

"I've read every pregnancy is different, England," Canada said, setting the plate down on the counter. His bear, Kumajirou, would have no problem eating them when he woke up.

The lazy bear.

"It shouldn't be this different, though," England started to say. He looked like he was going to say more, but he was interrupted by an 8-bit version of O Canada. He looked around in confusion, until his eyes found Canada's phone - laying on the middle of the table. "Uh, Canada-"

"Got it." Canada sighed and went to pick up the phone. He assumed it would be Ontario - either going on about another one of his schemes to boost their economy(at the expense of the well-being of the Atlantic provinces), or to complain about how Quebec was being a prick again. Or, more likely, Quebec complaining that _Ontario_ was being the prick. Or one of the neighbouring provinces calling to warn about a brawl breaking out between the two eldest provinces.

Those two never got along very well, but Canada wasn't too bothered by it. The French and English provinces constantly bickered - often with threats from Quebec to go off and become its own country. It was oddly soothing; given his childhood was a custody war between the French and the English.

"_Chérie_! Mathieu?" No matter how much Canada loved his provinces, he breathed a sigh of relief when it was France's voice he heard on the other end.

"_Bonjour, _France," Canada said in response. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed England blanching. Was it the mention of France's name, or just morning sickness again?

"Mathieu, 'ave you seen mon _Angleterre_?" France sounded panicked. "'E waz not at 'is 'ouse _ce matin_!"

"Calm down, calm down!" Canada exclaimed. "He's with me."

"_Angleterre est_ _chez vous_!" There was a mix of relief and confusion in the Frenchman's voice. "_Pourquoi!_"

"Um…um…" Canada glanced back at England, thinking back at how against telling France about the pregnancy he had been. "…He hit his head. The doctor suggested someone stay around him for a little bit. He's fine, but…just in case."

"Why did 'e not call _moi_ about this!" France wailed. "I would 'ave come over to help as soon as I could!"

"It's because I took him to the hospital after he hit his head," Canada explained. "It just made more sense for me to care for him."

"…._Oui_, I suppose that makes sense," France sighed and a defeated tone. "I will talk to you later, Mathieu?"

"_Oui. Salut._"

"_Salut._"

Canada hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket. He turned slowly, giving him a knowing smile that only someone of French decent would be able to pull off. "You and France are just into 'casual sex,' eh?"

"Yes, there's nothing else!" England snapped. "Why, what did he say!"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Canada answered. "He just seemed….like a protective boyfriend to me."

"Bollocks," England spat, pushing himself to his feet. "It's too early in the morning for this. I'm going back to sleep." Not giving the maple lover a chance to respond, he stormed off to Canada's guestroom. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hadn't planned on uploading until Monday, but I'm going to try to have _another_ chapter ready for Monday. I'll be busy from the twenty third until probably the twenty seventh...you know, Christmas stuff. I'm going home! You don't know how much you miss your family until you leave the area you grow up in with no hope of just being able to _drive_ down...*sigh***

**Anyway, enjoy. I appreciate all the people who added this story to their alerts...but if you have the time when you're reading this, could you review? I really like to hear peoples' opinions and speculations...**

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><p>"England, you should get down…what if you fall!"<p>

Thick eyebrows furrowed as the island nation looks down at Canada. "You have been doing most of the decorating, and I'm just sitting around. I can't stand-whoa!" The chair he had been standing on wobbled and nearly tipped over.

"Careful, careful, careful!" Canada squeaked. Without even thinking, Canada put his hands on England's hips and lifted him down onto the floor. No effort whatsoever; although England had begun to gain weight recently…or at least, that's what England had been thinking. The scales in Canada's bathroom told him differently.

"Don't do that!" England snapped grumpily. His cheeks had gone a reddish-pink colour in embarrassment.

"I'm a bit taller than you are," Canada pointed out. "Perhaps I should be in charge of putting tinsel up. You can finish decorating the tree." He gestured to the large pine tree sitting across the room.

"Fine, whatever," England grumbled, going over to the tree. He was somewhat content, though; he had something to do instead of seeming like a lazy sod.

Canada smiled to himself. It had only been a week, and already he found England acting like the England he knew - back to insults, stubborn independence, the works. It was actually a nice change from the sick, exhausted England he had been dealing with previously. Things were almost normal for the Brit now, except those wretched nausea spells in between the ravenous appetite - which England was demonstrating now by absentmindedly picking a candy cane off the tree and trying eat it without Canada noticing.

Yes…things were alright for the time being.

The rest of the preparations went by without many problems, and both went into their respective rooms to change into something more presentable than the clothes they had worn while cleaning, cooking, and decorating. Canada had gotten himself and his polar bear dressed(Kuma-something simply wore a tiny bowtie) without much time wasted, but nearly ten minutes passed and England still hadn't exited his room. Worried that the Englishman had suddenly fallen ill, he cautiously stepped into the guest room….and nearly burst out laughing at what he saw.

England was laying on the bed, struggling to fasten his dress pants, but to no avail. His shirt seemed to have gotten on without much of a struggle, but those pants jut did not seem to want to go over England's slightly bloated belly.

"Do you need help?" Canada asked - allowing himself to snicker a little. England obviously did not realize the Canuck had been watching him, as he went bright red and nearly launched himself off the bed.

"I-I-I can take care of it myself!" England sputtered, hiding his embarrassment behind a glare.

"Doesn't seem like it…" Canada walked over to the Brit and put either hands on the pants. "Suck in your gut."

With those potentially hurtful words, England scowled. However, he did as he was told - taking in a rather large breath - trying to flatten his stomach the best he could. Canada used this to slide the dress pants up over England's abdomen and quickly fasten them. The Englishman slowly let out his breath, and waited patiently to see if the buttons would come undone. A few seconds passed, and the two blonds came to the conclusion that it was safe.

"…Thank you," England said with a bit of hesitation. "…I didn't think I put on _that_ much weight already…"

"It's just gas," Canada said flippantly. However, this explanation only seemed to embarrass England more.

"I don't-"

"It's not a huge deal. It's normal, actually," Canada told him with a small smile. He got off the bed and headed towards the door. "The guests will arriving any minute now. Come on." He then left the room.

"Matthew is really as pushy as his brother when he wants to be," England grumbled, adjusting his clothes and leaving the room.

When he reached the main area for the party, Canada was already answering the door and welcoming the first guests. Peeking over the large nation's shoulder he saw Prussia, Spain and…France.

"The bloody Bad Touch Trio," England muttered to himself. "Of course they'd be first to a party. Probably will be bloody last, as we-ahh!" Arms had wrapped themselves around the island nation's waist, and England could feel a lightly-bearded chin rub against his cheek.

"Ah, _Angleterre_~!" France purred, pulling the Brit closer. "It's been so long since we met laast!"

"It's only been two weeks!" England snapped, shoving the Frenchman off of him. "You can't-wait, you three are half _pissed_!"

Prussia just shrugged. "We weren't sure if alcohol would be served here," he said in his scratchy, slightly high pitched voice that would make one think of some sort of bird huffing gasoline. "So we had a few beforehand."

"Besides, _Angleterre_, we know you will be wearing nothing but an apron and singing zee Spice Girls by the end of the night," France joked. The entire Bad Touch Trio laughed and made their way to the living room - where all the furniture had been moved to make something of a dance floor. England just scowled at their retreating forms, silently fuming.

Canada placed his hand on the shorter male's shoulder. "England, please don't drink tonight," he pleaded quietly. "I realize that I shouldn't of put alcohol out at all if I didn't want you to drink…but…"

"Bloody crotch fruit," England muttered to himself, scowling.

"Don't reference it like that." Canada frowned. "I'm sure you'll start feeling more than contempt towards it when it starts actually growing, instead of giving you morning sickness…"

"Of all things to ever exist, _morning_ sickness has to have the worst name," England grumbled, glaring at nothing in particular. "I'm sick all bloody day."

"But you're not sick now, are you?" Canada pointed out, trying hard to stay an optimist. "You don't need to drink to have a good time, England. I'll stay sober too, okay?"

"Yes, whatever," England said dismissively, turning away to enter the living room. Almost as soon as he entered said room, he was seized by France. A glass of eggnog was pressed against the Brit's lips.

"Come on, _cherie_," France purred. "There's enough rum in zis glass to get a moose drunk."

Oh, _bloody hell._ The alcohol smell was really assaulting England's nose now - both tantalizing and nauseating at the same time. The representative of the United Kingdom had a better sense of will than to break with a single glass of spiked eggnog thrusted underneath his nose, however; so he turned his head away. Unfortunately, the nausea remained.

"No thank you," England said shortly, his large eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

"_Quoi!_" France gasped in rather overdramatic shock. "_Angleterre_ refused _alcool_! It eez zee apocalypse!"

"Shut up, you bloody frog," England growled. "I'm not feeling well tonight. That's all."

"Is it zat bump Canada told _moi_ about?" France gently poked the small lump on England's left temple. It didn't hurt so much anymore, it was still enough to make England want to sock the Frenchman in the gut.

"Who cares!" Prussia pushed himself between the two, snatching the eggnog from France's hand. "If he isn't drinkin', then there's more for us!" As if to prove his point, he downed the entire glass in one quick gulp. He then turned his head to England and grinned, as if taunting him.

"Ahhh! That was some good stuff!" Prussia said triumphantly; his hot, drunken breath washing over England's face.

Ugh. That breath which reeked of wurst, booze, and now eggnog. England was sure he was going to vomit now.

"Excuse me," the Brit muttered, pushing away from France and Prussia. He made his way through the small crowd of nations which had begun to trickle into Canada's living room - in more recent years, Canada had become much more well known, if not still a bit forgettable.

Speaking of the maple lover, where the bloody hell was he!

In England's struggle to find Canada, he bumped into someone and stumbled backwards. He paid no mind, just muttered an apology and continued on his way. Or, he would of if his arm hadn't been grabbed.

"Why are you in such a hurry, Artie?" Oh. Of all people, why did it have to be _America!_

England turned to scowl at the tall male keeping him from moving. "I'm just-" He paused to wince, another wave of nausea running through him. He hadn't been feeling too bad all day, why did it have to start up again during the party!

"Just…? Whoa, man, you're really pale. You okay?" America's hands found themselves on either side of England's shoulders, trying to stable the Englishman.

"Don't bloody _touch_ me!" England snapped, feeling rather sensitive at the moment. Another wave of nausea, and England clasped his one hand over his mouth, the other on his stomach.

For once, America was quick to understand what was going on. He grabbed the shorter male's wrist and began to drag him through the crowd, down the hall, and to the bathroom. The timing had been just right; as England nearly dropped to his knees in front of the toilet as soon as the entered the bathroom.

"Dude, the party just began," America muttered, watching the Brit cough and sputter his guts out. "And you're this drunk already?"

England wasn't sure why the next words left his mouth. Maybe in his ill state, he had no energy to think before speaking. Maybe he needed someone other than Canada to comfort him. All he knew was that he turned to the American with a small glare and said, "I'm not drunk, you git. I'm bloody pregnant."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: *fail corner* I spend all this time to bring out a new chapter,and I bring you all this piece of crap. Oh well, after this I'm hoping that the "Living with Canada" arc will be done and over with, and I can get to the real meat of the story.**

__**I really hate how this chapter ended, I feel like there should be more. *sigh* Oh well. I hope you enjoy anyway...**

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><p>"<em>I'm not drunk, you git. I'm bloody pregnant."<em>

After these words, America felt the air around him suddenly go thin; threaten to choke him and leave him without breath. Finally, he looked down at the heaving Englishman. "…You've been living with Canada. Does that mean he's…?"

"Bloody hell, no!" England managed to laugh between bringing up the second helping of his supper. "I-it's…France."

"What?" America's eyes widened. Didn't England hate France? That's what he always thought, by the way the two fought…

"France is the father." Spent, England laid down on the floor - not caring at all how bad this looked. "We've been casual partners for a while…"

"…Have you told him?" America asked shakily.

"No. I don't want to tell him." England pulled himself to his feet and weakly pressed the flusher down. His eyes drooped, threatening for him to doze off while standing. "I don't want him to have any part…"

"You're keeping it though, right?" America pressed, looking at his once father/older brother figure worriedly. In his home, there had been all kinds of issues relating to things such as abortion, and he himself was quite against the matter. If he found out England was thinking about such a thing…he'd never be able to look at the Brit the same way again.

"Yes, I'm keeping the damn thing," England grumbled, holding onto the wall for support as he left the bathroom. He threw a glare towards America. He was weak, he was tired, and he could use someone to _help him_. Someone who was _strong_, perhaps even lift him up without a problem…but of course, this _someone_ was such a bloody blockhead that he didn't even notice…

"You look wobbly. Do you need help?" Ah, _finally_ the idiot clues in!

"Maybe…just a little bit…" England felt his cheeks light up in embarrassment. The light blush became a more prominent one when America lifted up the tiny man bridal-style and carried him down the hall.

"You don't have to go this far…!" England began to protest, but was only answered by America's trademark, obnoxious laugh.

Oh, how England hated that stupid laugh.

"Oh! England!" Almost as soon as America and England made it back to the kitchen, they were practically ambushed by America's northern brother. "I…I saw you running down the hall…are you okay?"

"Something didn't agree with me," England explained, patting his still-churning stomach. He hoped that he wouldn't throw up again…his throat was burning from the effort.

Canada looked like he was going to say something, but glanced over at his twin brother and seemed to change his mind. "…I noticed that. I would of come to help, but…I had some problems." He nervously glanced back at the crowd of fellow nations.

"There was nothing you could of done to help," England pointed out as America helped him into a chair.

"Yes, but-" Canada began.

"Hey, bro, is there anything non-alcoholic Iggy can drink?" America asked suddenly, cutting off his twin. "I know you put out some juice, but I'm pretty sure the Bad Touch Trio have spiked it already."

"There's ginger ale in the fridge," Canada answered, gesturing to the refrigerator. He had got into the habit of keeping some in the house ever since England became his house guest.

"Thanks!" America took the two litre bottle of ginger ale from the fridge and poured a glass, which the Brit was all to eager to receive. The drink had gone flat due to the constant opening and closing of the bottle, causing it to feel absolutely amazing going down England's tired and dry throat. Before he knew it, he had gulped down half the glass.

"Easy, easy!" America put a hand on England's shoulder. "You'll just end up bringing it back up if you drink so fast…!"

"I'm fine, you git!" England snapped. America just threw his arms up defensively and took a step back - relieved that England was back to normal again, but worried what a _hormonal_ England could do to him instead of just the normal grumpy one.

"Okay, okay…" America took a step back from the Brit, holding up his hands defensively. England seemed content with that, and continued drinking the ginger ale; albeit a bit slower this time.

"Can-a-daaaaa!" Prussia suddenly burst through the crowd, stumbling and sloshing his beer about everywhere. He drunkenly wrapped his free arm around Canada's arm, placing a kiss on the northern country's cheek. "Hey hey, Canada…ya wanna…go to yer room or summin'?" the German once-nation slurred out, causing Canada to turn as red as his beloved maple leaf.

"Wa-wait, Prussia, you're drunk. R-really drunk. Completely pissed." Canada had reverted back to his quiet and hard-to-hear state. If England didn't know better, he would of sworn Canada disappeared for a moment. He reappeared with a scream when Prussia's hand slid down to grope his rear.

"Sooo firm," Prussia sneered. "Not at all like your fatass brother."

"Is this the only reason why you're here!" America demanded, looking a bit annoyed. Prussia and America often got along quite well, but as soon as either one got a few glasses of alcohol in them, they couldn't stand each other.

"_Ja,_" Prussia replied, slipping back into his native tongue in his drunken state. He leaned over and nibbled Canada's ear. The northern nation let out a squeak and squeezed his eyes shut.

"M-maple!" he swore. "Pr-Prussia, please stop!"

"Give me one reason why I should…" Prussia half growled, half purred. His tongue ran itself over Canada's neck, and his right hand gently tugged on the single curl that dangled in front of the maple lover's face.

There wasn't really that much time to process what happened next. One moment England was standing helplessly as he watched the albino molest Canada, and the next Prussia was half way across the room. Two and two were finally put together when America stomped over to Prussia and yanked him up by the collar.

"He asked you to stop!" America snapped, glaring down at the red-eyed micro nation. "Why didn't you!"

"I…I…!" Prussia sputtered, his drunken mind reeling in attempt to figure out what exactly was going on.

"Exactly!" America shoved Prussia back down to the floor. "No wonder Hungary hates you! You're such a slimy little pervert, I really don't blame her. If someone says _no_ that that means _fucking no_!"

Fearful for Prussia's life, England decided that now was a good time to end this fight before it got any worse. He grabbed the hamburger-eating nation by the arms and yanked him back, bringing him away from the albinic micro nation. "What the bleeding hell were you doing, Alfred!"

"….Protecting my baby brother," America said, finally seeming to calm down. England could really see how America held his own so well against Russia during the cold war; the blond was just as crazy when he wanted to. England had no doubts that America was going to attempt to actually murder Prussia.

Speaking of Prussia, England faintly registered the albino scrambling to his feet and running towards the door, yelling to his two buddies that he was leaving. Spain and France, of course, followed him - neither of them half as drunk as Prussia had been. France was the last of the trio to leave the house, an he paused to look over at England and the North American twins. Jade eyes met cerulean, and England suddenly felt the almost overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

Was that the baby hinting it wanted to be with its father?

"Alfred, did you hurt yourself?" Canada asked timidly, stepping over to England and America. England just seemed to remember that he was still holding America in a potentially painful position, and let him go.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" America grinned at his twin brother. "I was totally cool and heroic, wasn't I!"

Crazy moment back to normal; America was acting like a "hero" again.

Canada gave America a small smile. "Yes, America. You were a real hero. Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I hate this chapter. I really do. I meant to go a lot longer than this, but I've already had you guys waiting long enough so this seemed like the best way to cut it off for now...**

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><p>With a startled snort, England shot up from where he had been sleeping on the couch. It had been another week since Canada's party, and England - although very grateful for the maple lover's help - decided it was time to go home.<p>

Unfortunately, nearly three weeks of an unexcused absence from his government meant lots of paperwork to catch up on. England had slept maybe four hours over the course of three days, and now that he was finally caught up, some infernal racket dared to wake him up…!

"Yo, Iggs!" America burst into the den, his usual dumb grin plastered on his face. "How're ya doin'?"

"Better before you showed up," England wanted to say, but held his tongue. Instead he got himself off the couch and ran a hand through his messy hair. God, he needed a shower.

"I'm alright," England said slowly. It was then he noticed the backpack America was holding. "…What is that for?"

"It's got my clothes and stuff. Some games, too. You've got a 360, right, England?" Already America was seemingly making himself at home, casually throwing his bag on the couch like a teen coming home from school.

"Yes, I do. Not that I play it much, but-" England's voice trailed off as America knelt down by the TV to inspect England's modest game collection.

"Wow, I always thought you were too stuffy for all this horror stuff!" America exclaimed, rooting through the game cases. "Fallout, F.E.A.R….man, you've changed my view of you completely!"

England could feel the heated blush creeping up his cheeks now, spreading all the way up to the tips of his ears. "Th-they're just games Japan told me to try. It's not like I really play them that often."

That was a huge lie. In all honesty, he had played everyone of them through at least twice. If not more.

"We need to play co-op sometime! You don't seem to be busy right now, so how about-" America paused as he turned to face the shorter man, the smile immediately evaporating from his face. "Actually, maybe you should rest for now…"

England just stared at America for a moment. His hand traced over the skin below his eyes, trying to figure out how bad the bags would have to be for even _America _to notice. He must look absolutely horrid. "I must look like death," England joked, smiling a little.

"You look pretty bad, yeah," America replied truthfully. "Even your giant eyebrows seem droopier than usual!"

England nearly followed through on the urge to throw the large vase in the middle of his coffee table at America. "Fine, I'll get some rest! Just be quiet for once in your life!" He climbed back onto his spot on the couch, fluffed the cushion, and blissfully closed his eyes. Finally, maybe, he could get some sleep that would no doubt be good for both him and the baby. He ran one hand over his stomach, feeling the slight, almost-imagined bump. Just a couple more months and there would be no way to hide it. Should he come out with it at the next world meeting, or…?

…Someone was staring at him.

He opened his protesting eyes slowly to see America staring at him in confusion. "…I'm resting like you said I should. What do you want?"

"Isn't your bed more comfy?" America asked, a small frown tainting his boyish features.

England closed his eyes again. "Perhaps, but my bed is all the way upstairs. I'm tired now." He began to breathe deeply again; guessing that the lack of response from America meant that he was done talking. He had only been dozing for a couple moments when he felt himself being lifted up.

"Buh-wha-America!" the Brit stuttered. His eyes shot open when he felt himself being carried down the hall. His arms wrapped around America, desprately trying not to fall onto the hardwood floor.

"Go back to sleep, man." America grinned, carefully carrying England up the stairs. "You were too tired to go to bed on your own, so I'm taking you up there for you!"

"You don't have to…!" England started to argue.

"I want to!" America laid England down on the bed with more gentleness that England ever thought he had. The Brit gave his "houseguest" a glare and moved to pull the blankets over his body. However, he was stopped by America - who silently reached over to undo England's trousers.

"America, what the bleeding hell are you doing!" England screeched as the younger nation continued to undress him.

"I know a neat freak like you hates to get his clothes dirty," America said. "So I'm helping you change into your jammies."

"I can change on my own, thank you very much!" England snapped.

"If I left you alone now, I think you'd just fall asleep in your boxers," America pointed out, tugging on the shorter nation's underwear as if to prove his point. "And then you'd probably catch a cold in this old drafty house."

"My house isn't drafty!" England argued.

"How old is this place? Almost as old as you?" America asked, giving him a small smirk.

"Some parts of it," England said truthfully, looking away.

"Exactly!" America slid on England's pajama pants. He paused just before he went to slide the nightshirt on. His hand hovered just over England's stomach. "…May I?"

"You what…?" England stared at America's hand and sat back. "Oh, go ahead. It's too early to feel anything, though…"

America didn't seem to care. As soon as England gave the okay, America began to gently stroke England slight swell - which England couldn't deny was extremely soothing. England found his eyes begin to droop.

"You know if it's a dude or a chick yet?" America asked.

"It's far too early, ya git…" England muttered, eyes still closed.

America noticed the slight slur in England's voice, he looked up at the Brit in concern. Seeing England struggling to stay awake, America sat England up, slid on the night shirt, and left him to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: There's a little bit of smut in this chapter, I'll warn you. Although I don't think it's enough to warrant this chapter to get bumped up to M rated...**

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><p>When England woke up again, the house had gone completely silent. He had nearly forgotten America had come to visit him…<em>nearly.<em> Any doubts he had were ruined when a McDonald's bag was plopped in front of his face.

"G'morning…er, evening, England!" America greeted. England sat up slowly and gave his ex-colony an unamused glare.

"What is this?" England gestured to the paper bag laying beside him.

"Well, I got bored playing your games." America shrugged. "And I got hungry. Nothing in your house is edible, so I went to grab some Mickey D's!" The self-proclaimed hero beamed. "Never thought your country would have 'em, since you claim to hate McDonald's so much."

"Unfortunately, some of my people are tasteless enough to enjoy it," England said stubbornly, turning his head to look away from the bag of greasy filth. "If I had my way, none of that would be in my country."

"Aw, c'mon!" America grinned. "Have you ever even tried it!"

"Never. Don't plan to, either."

Without a word, America reached over to pick up the McDonald's bag. At first, England assumed that the grease-loving nation would take the disgusting meal for himself, but he was sadly proven wrong when the hamburger was pressed against his own, unwilling lips.

"Eaaaat iiiiiiit…." America commanded, as if he were trying to hypnotise the Brit into eating the burger.

England let out a sigh. "Fine, if I eat it, will you stop pestering me about it?" He took the burger out of America's hands - already knowing that this was a huge mistake.

"Yes! I promise!" America fist pumped the air. "Score one for the American way!"

England just rolled his eyes and took a small bite of the burger. It was every bit as disgusting as he expected; the burger was just a lump of fat and grease, the bun was soggy, and there was far too much mustard. Normally, England would be disgusted by such a thing, but somehow it seemed to actually _soothe_ the upset stomach that had been bothering him since he woke up.

Bloody hell, the child actually _liked_ this deep-friend vomit!

_Well, don't expect it very often_, England inwardly told the baby. _No matter how much _you_ claim to love it, I am not going to ruin my health for the sake of food you think you love. Besides, there's no nutritional value to this whatsoever!_

"So, Artie…?" America pressed when he noticed that England had eaten the entire burger. He didn't spit it out - or go to vomit - after the first bite, so that had to be a good thing, right? "How did it taste?"

"It ranks above French food on my list of the most disgusting things I could put in my mouth," England answered calmly, reaching into the McDonald's bag for a napkin to wipe off the grease. Of course, this much grease could only be completely removed with warm water and soap.

America just stared at him - suddenly gone a deep red. Obviously, he had only heard "French" and "put in my mouth." He continued to gape at the Brit until an exasperated sigh left England's lips.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, you bleeding idiot." England began to slide out of the bed. "I was talking about food. Yours taste disgusting, by the way."

America's cheeks deepened in colour. "How do you know what I-oh, you were talking about food."

"_Get your mind out of the gutter!_" England snapped again, gathering some clothes from the dresser. "You can have the chips in the fast food bag, by the way." He disappeared into the bathroom adjoining his bedroom.

"There's chips in there!" There was the sound of the bag rustling, then, "There's just fries in here! Not chips!"

"You are a bleeding moron!"

"I am not a moron!"

England said nothing else - just continued dressing himself for the day. He was midway through pulling on his trousers when he heard the doorbell ring. "Alfred? If you're still there, could you answer that?"

He got no response, so he could only hope that America heard him. The bell did not ring again after the first one, so he assumed that America had answered the door. After he finished dressing and ran a comb through his hair, he rushed downstairs to see who had been calling this late in the afternoon. Wouldn't most people be at home, eating supper at this point?

His string of thoughts were suddenly and completely brought to an end when he saw France patiently sitting on the couch.

"Why did you let _him_ in!" England squawked, turning to face America - who was sitting in the armchair to the left of the couch.

"You said to answer the door," America replied, shrugging.

"Well, I figured you'd know not to let the frog in!" England turned his head to look at France. "And what are you _doing_ here!"

"Could you believe _moi_ if I was just visiting a neighbour for a cup of sugar?" France asked, a joking smirk spread across his face.

"We don't live close enough for you to use that excuse!" England shot back, putting his hands on his hips.

"Fine, I just wanted to see you, _Angleterre._ You 'ave been making yourself so scarce lately." France stood up and moved closer to the shorter male.

"Maybe I don't want to talk to you!" England snapped, taking a step back from the Frenchman. Of course, this only resulted in France springing forward like a hunting cat and seize the Englishman.

"And why eez zat?" France asked, wrapping an arm around England's waist. "Waz zere somet'ing I deed?" As he spoke, a perplexed expression replaced his concerned one. Tilting his head, he ran his hands over England's waist - feeling how the Brit had grown more curvy since he had last seen him.

"Could it be…? Non…" France muttered under his breath. Blue eyes widened as he moved his hands over England's stomach.

"Frog! Stop fondling me!" England burst, shoving the older nation back. He ripped his coat off the rack by the door and swung open said door.

"Angleterre? Where are you going?" France asked.

"I need to think!" England snapped, slamming the door behind him.

"What zee 'ell…?" France muttered, glancing over at America - who had just stood and watched the entire scene as if it were a scene in the movie. It didn't take very long to figure out her wouldn't get much of an explanation from America, so he slid his own jacket back on and followed the Brit out into the winter air.

XxxxxxX

The rose garden was no where near as beautiful as it would be later on in the year. Everything was grey and dormant in the cold air. It suited England just fine, really. His mood was as dark and grey as the clouds above him.

"Angleterre, eef you go outside to think all zee time, you will catch a cold," France said matter-of-factly. Obviously, it hadn't taken him too long to find the fuming Brit.

"I'm fine." England wrapped his arms around himself.

"You are shivering, _mon chere_," France pointed out. England threw him a glare.

"Perhaps it's a little chilly," England admitted, glancing around at his sleeping garden. After setting his eyes on the familiar bench that he often spent warm Summer afternoons drinking tea and admiring the beauty of nature. While it was not Summer, nor warm, it still held some comfort to him.

He sat himself down on the damp bench, wincing a little as the cold seeped into this thighs. After he sat for a moment, France decided to finally follow suit and sit beside him.

"_Mon chere,_" France began, gently placing his hand over the shorter nation's. He was a bit surprised when England did not move away. "What eez wrong? Eef you 'ave somet'ing to say, out with eet!"

England remained quiet. What should he say? What _could_ he say? He wasn't prepared to let France know about the baby; he couldn't do it…!

"Angleterre, why 'ave you gone so pale?" French lips brushed against England's cold-reddened ears. "Eef you are not comfortable-"

France was quickly cut off by England's lips meeting his own. The Frenchman fell backwards onto the bench and nearly beat his head off the metal arm. "_Q-quoi?_ Angleterre…?" the Frenchman gasped out in confusion.

"I find it's the only effective way to tell you to shut you up," England growled, wiping his mouth as if the bearded male tasted bitter.

France stared at him for a few more seconds before his bewildered expression became a sly smirk. "Or eez it?" He wrapped his arms around England's waist, pulling him closer. He leaned in and ran his tongue over the thick hair above England's jade orbs. "Eet 'as been a long time, hmm?" He leaned in and huskily whispered, "A month, _oui_? An entire month. We both know you must be close to _bursting _by now…" His head dipped down and nipped at the Brit's neck.

England dug his fingers into the Frenchman's shirt with a groan. "You…bloody…frog!"

"_Oui_, I know," France purred, running his hands down England's body - knowing every little bit of England's body that made him moan and squeak.

"Goddammit, Francis…" England hissed, already panting against France.

"What eez zat word you use? Randy? _Oui, _randy. You are so randy already, Angleterre…" France hummed, slipping his hands down the Brit's pants. The reaction was instantaneous; England threw his head back and bucked into France's invading hands.

"Bloody hell, Francis! Just get it done!" England gasped out in desperate annoyance.

England could feel the vibration of France's little perverted laugh against his neck, but more importantly, he heard a small cough from somewhere close by. His head shot up to see America standing about a metre or two from the bench, face bright red.

"B-bollocks!" England quickly shoved France off of him and began to fix his own clothes. "A-America…"

"I-it's fine, dude…" America muttered - completely subdued by the sight in front of him.

England stood up, clearing his throat and still fixing his clothes. "I got carried away." He looked at France. "I'm going back inside. I suggest you go home, frog-face." He then began to make his way inside - America following behind him.

"I don't suppose you got the balls up to tell him?" America asked his once-brother.

England paused and glanced back at France. "…Not at all…"


	6. Chapter 6

**__A/N: *peeks in nervous* Been a while, hm? Eeheh...I blame Half Life 2 and 2P Hetalia...they've been taking most of my time lately...**

**Anyway, I'm not too proud of this chapter...America seems horribly out of character to me. Well, it's something, I suppose...**

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><p>"I can't believe you didn't tell him!" America exclaimed as England sat on the couch. "At this rate you'll be telling him in the hospital room while you give birth!"<p>

England scowled at him childishly, grabbing a cushion and hugging it. After the episode with France, his thoughts were clouded and hazy. Really, all he could think about was the dull ache throbbing between his legs. "What am I supposed to do?" he demanded. "Go up to his house and say, 'Hey, Francis, how are you? By the way, I'm up the spout with your child!'?"

America stared at him a moment. Finally his expression softened and he sat beside England. "No, but you gotta do something…"

"You really don't understand how hard this is." England groaned and pulled the cushion closer. "Oh, bugger. I have to tell my brothers, too."

America blinked. "Your brothers?"

"Yes, my brothers. I know they've spent more time with Canada, but I know you've met them," England answered.

America just stared at him.

"You know…Scotland, Ireland, Wales…"

"Whales?"

"Yes, Wales."

"Your brother is a whale! Dude, that's so awesome!"

"Not whales, _Wales_! The country!" England paused. "Well, I suppose he's more like a municipality now…"

"Who?"

"Argh!" England stood up. "Why are you such a bleeding _moron_!"

"Hey! I'm not a moron!" America whined.

England rolled his eyes as he made his way to the kitchen to make himself tea. America had a point; England had to tell France, and by the way he had been gaining weight, it had to be soon. But how could he do it? Like he said before, he could not just show up at France's house randomly with the news.

The Brit let out a sigh and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. There was no point worrying himself about it, right? This caused another sigh to leave England's lips. Convincing himself that everything would turn out alright was a terribly naïve and American way of thinking.

Everything was _not_ going to turn out okay. He had read too many Romeo and Juliet stories where romance rotted away into a tragic end.

Was there even any "romance" between him and France in the first place? For all the years he had convinced himself that they were just casual sex partners, what was the truth?

Did France really give a damn…?

"…Arthur?"

England's head shot up at the mention of his human name. America was standing in the doorway, leading to the kitchen with a concerned expression.

"Wh-what is it?" England stammered.

America said nothing for a moment. Instead, he walked over to the older country and ran his thumb over his cheek. "Why are you crying, Iggy?"

England froze. He had been crying? He hadn't really done that since…since the late 1700s. "D-don't call me 'Iggy,' you prat…" England sniffed, forcing himself to smile as he wiped his eyes.

America smiled and wrapped his arms around England. "There's no reason to cry, man. The hero's here to make everything better!"

"There's nothing to 'make better'!" England snapped.

In response, the American yanked England into his chest. "Can you stop being so stubborn for five minutes, England?" he asked. His words were harsh, yet his tone of voice was soft and soothing.

"I'm not stubborn! I don't need you to be so suffocating!" England insisted.

However, America was not hearing any of it. "Even heroes cry sometimes," he went on, gently stroking England's hair.

England jerked away from the younger country. "Stop it! I am not a child, Alfred!"

"Arthur-"

"No! Shut up!" England pushed America back. "I'm need some time alone. Don't follow me around!"

"But…what about your tea?" America gestured to the kettle on the stove.

"'Eff the tea!" England barked, stomping out of the room. America was left in the kitchen, alone and completely bewildered.

"What just happened…?"

XxxX

England locked himself in his room for the rest of the evening. America waited around late into the night; playing England's video games and watching TV. Around one in the morning he began to doze off - awakening about nine hours later to England moving about the house.

"Iggy?" America yawned an sat up on the couch to see England attempting to button his jacket up.

England jumped in surprise and looked at America. "Oh, you're awake?"

"Heading out?" America asked. He kicked off the old quilt he had wrapped around himself and stretched.

"Yes. I have to do some grocery shopping," England responded. He managed to finish buttoning up his coat and muttered something about needing a bigger one.

"Did you eat breakfast first?" America quizzed with a poorly-suppressed yawn. He really did not need England passing out from lack of nutrition again. He assumed skipping one meal would be like skipping two, now…

"I ate some scones and am," England replied hastily. It was obvious that he was beginning to grow annoyed. America was sounding like some kind of overprotective father…

"That ain't enough," America said firmly. "You need more than that." Especially since those scones were probably burnt beyond all nutritional value," America added silently.

"I don't have time for that," England answered - more annoyance in his tone.

"Why not?" America frowned.

England looked away. "I ran out of tea," he explained. "I swore I had more, but…"

America winced, remembering what he had done the night before. He had made himself a cup of tea and went around the lower level of the house speaking in a horribly fake English accent. After about ten minutes, America had decided that the tea was disgusting and dumped it out.

Now that he saw the dark bags underneath England's eyes from the beginnings of withdrawal, America felt bad.

"Hey, how about we stop at one 'o those coffee places?" America suggested. "Starbucks or whatever? I'm sure they'll have tea!"

England frowned. "Why-"

"I'll even pay, too!" America went on excitedly.

"I doubt you even have any pounds on you," England scoffed.

"What does that have to do with anything?" America cocked an eyebrow. "Especially after you've complained so much about my weight!"

"I'm talking about currency, you moron!" England snapped.

"Oh." America blinked a few times, processing the information. "Well I guess I'll just owe you then, right!" He grabbed England's hand and led him out the door.

"Don't I get any say in this!" England demanded. However, his yells fell on deaf ears - he was dragged unwillingly down the street.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I feel really bad for not updating this sooner. For those who have read my letterfic, then you're probably already aware that my cat broke my laptop's charger. That's still isn't fixed, but I figured I had to get something out there. It's rather short, but I'm going to try to get the next part out sooner, but depending on how often my mom lets me use her computer. In order to write this, I had to type rather late at night...in fact, the sun's due to come up in about twenty minutes or so. Heheh.**

**Hope you guys enjoy the chapter, though. It went against everything else I had been planning, but since I rewrote everything based on the chapter I lost on my old computer, I think that's alright. xD**

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><p>"Here you go, man!" America gave the Brit a wide grin as he sat down at the small table in with the tray of Styrofoam cups – one holding England's favourite brew of Earl Grey, and the other holding America's coffee.<p>

England hardly gave America a glance as he took his tea and sipped it. It was obviously made with either a tea bag or low-quality tea leaves, and way too much milk had been added. It was tea, though, England decided, and drank it anyway. After eating a couple jam-covered scones and being dragged down the street to the nearest café, he was too exhausted to make a big deal about it. To top it all off, a big of nausea had begun to stir in the pit of England's stomach – probably in response to the stench of burnt pastries and stale coffee.

_'The bathroom hasn't been cleaned in a while, either,_' England thought with a grimace, glaring in the direction of the bathroom. Ever since the symptoms of his pregnancy first began, he had noticed that his sense of smell was more sensitive. Due to this, the smell of urine from the bathroom was unmistakable.

"Oh, man. Should I have got you ginger ale or somethin' instead?" America asked, noticing how England's face had gone a bit greenish. While he was extremely poor at reading the atmosphere, he knew how to pick up when someone was feeling sick to their stomach. He learned it pretty well last time his brother had the flu and America dragged him to an amusement park anyway.

"No, no." England forced a reassuring smile. "I'm alright. It just….smells in here."

"It smells?" America looked around the café, sniffing rather loudly. He turned back to England with a frown on his face. "I don't smell anything, man. Oh, wait! You're preggers! Pregnant people have, like, super smell, right?"

"Keep it down!" England hissed. He paused to take a nervous sip of his tea. Would it stay down? After pausing to make sure he wouldn't have to make a dash to that foul-smelling bathroom, he continued speaking. "Yes, my nose is a little more sensitive, but—"

America's obnoxious laugh interrupted him. "Dude, that's so awesome! You could be a superhero!" He took a gulp of his coffee, leaving England to wonder how he could do that without burning his tongue or his throat. "Like, 'preggerman' or something! Dude, dude, we should run that by Kiku sometime!"

All England could do while the younger nation ranted enthusiastically was bury his face in his hands and sigh. Twenty minutes later, he had enough. Silently he stood up and threw his hardly touched cup of lukewarm tea into the rubbish bin and turned to America. "I'm leaving. You can stay here and rant, but I have some grocery shopping to do."

"Coming!" America chugged the last of his coffee and followed after the shorter male. However, England just continued out the door without even looking back to see if America was following him. As a result, America had to break out into a light jog just to catch up.

"What's your problem, man!" America reached out to grab England's shoulder. "You coulda waited!"

"I just want to get my shopping done and go home! I don't want to sit around in some smelly coffee shop while you go on about my condition like it's some sort of joke!" England snapped, whirling around to face him. "You may think it's hilarious, but you have no idea what I have to go through!"

"Calm down…" America began to say.

"No! I won't bloody calm down! I can smell what you've had for breakfast _yesterday_, I feel sick all the time, my head won't stop pounding and I can't eat without either getting gassy, getting heartburn, or getting _sick_!" England went on. "So instead of running to the store, picking up what I need and going home so I can suffer in my house, you try to make a day out of it!"

America stared at England as he went on his enraged rant, trying to process everything that was being said. Finally, when England finished yelling and settled into panting, America moved forward to hug him.

Tried to.

Seconds later, America was lying on the ground, clutching his family jewels in pain. England was glaring down at him, completely furious. "What the bloody hell was that!" he demanded. "I don't think I gave you permission to hug me while I'm _ranting_!"

"I just…ugh…" America groaned, unable to make out anything with the amount of pain he was in.

"Go _home_!" England ordered the American. "I can take care of myself! I don't need some uppity _boy_ following me around like I'm made of glass!" With that, he turned and stormed off – leaving America to recover and pick himself off the ground.

If England had not been so angry, he would have noticed his body giving him warning signs the entire way to the store. By the time the adrenaline finally wore off and he walked through the doors, exhaustion had hit him hard, and his head felt like it was about to explode. "Just a few odds and ends," he muttered to himself. He grabbed a shopping trolley – mostly just to support himself – and went through the aisles for what he needed – although the number one thing on his mind was restocking his cupboard with tea.

_'What does America think he's doing, anyway!'_ England thought, returning to his angry thoughts as pushed the cart. _'Is this all part of his stupid hero game! I don't want to take part in this!'_ He continued to gather his groceries; finally making his way to the tea aisle. What kind did he feel like…? The Earl Grey he drank-well, _tried_ to drink earlier turned him completely off the drink for the time being. That was a shame, since Earl Grey was one of his favourite flavours.

English Breakfast had too close of a flavour to Earl Grey. Orange Spice was too sweet and didn't suit his current palate. "Super Irish Breakfast"…? He didn't recall ever seeing that flavour before, but he would assume it would only be good actually Irish'd…with drinks he currently wasn't allowed to drink. Camomile would have to do for now. It was fairly soothing, anyway.

As he reached for the tin of tea leaves, a wave of heat flashed through him, lighting his cheeks and nestling in his stomach. His vision blurred. He was only faintly aware that he was falling over.

"Oh….bugger."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I feel like I need to apologize for this chapter for a number of reasons.**

**First of all, I think I obliterated any hope for USUK in this with this chapter. I probably lost about half of my viewers with that, but...whatever. I'm doing what makes me happy. Not what makes you guys happy.**

**Secondly, the "OCs". I felt adding the British Isle siblings(meaning both the UK and Ireland) were necessary at the moment. They probably won't have much of a pull on the story later on, apart from being something of a supporting cast. I do in fact know some history between Scotland, Wales, the Irelands, and England, but I haven't done any extensive research on them. I don't feel a large amount of information is needed for the amount I will be using them. Please don't bash me on any inaccuracies there may be on any historical hints I may have used. **

**On a related note, I hope no one is offended that I called the Republic of Ireland as just Ireland. The Republic of Ireland is a bit lengthy, and most people I know just refer to it as Ireland. If anyone is offended by that, I am sorry.**

**Lastly, Scotland's "accent." I'm very poor at writing accents, so I kind of just bullshitted my way through it after trying to search up a good way of writing it. I might just drop writing that way in the future and you guys can just pretend he sounds Scottish in your heads.**

**Apart from all these apologies, I really hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a bit longer than my usual ones, too.**

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><p>The first thing England was aware of when he came to were the hushed voices whispering right beside where he lay. The next thing he noticed was the faint buzz of machinery and the dry smell of sanitizers.<p>

He was in a hospital. A bloody _hospital_.

"Argh! Why didn't he tell us about this? I'll kill him…!" One of the voices had grown louder, and angrier.

"Calm down Alistair…maybe he's just been busy. You know how _Lloegr _has a habit of putting work before everyone else…" A lighter, more melodic voice tried to sooth the other.

"How come you never refer to him by first name? He's yer brother too, Emrys."

"Well, I-"

"Shh, you two! He's waking up!" A third voice shushed the first two as England let out a small groan and finally pried his heavy eyes open.

"Brother!" Almost immediately England had his youngest brother's smiling, freckled face in his own. Northern Ireland wrapped his arms around England and yanked him into a hug – a hug so tight that England could have sworn he felt his spine crack.

"Dalaigh, you're hurting me…" England squeaked out. The excitable brother pulled away quickly, muttering an apology.

"I'm just glad you're okay!" Northern Ireland beamed and looked over at his other brothers. "Isn't it nice?"

"It sure is." Wales smiled a little, trying to cut through the tension of the Republic of Ireland glaring daggars at Northern Ireland and England. Ireland never seemed to forgive England for the past. Wales had the feeling that Ireland might have enjoyed it if England ended up dying.

"Aye." Scotland ruffled Northern Ireland's carrot-coloured hair and stepped over to the hospital bed. "So, when were yuh gonna tell us 'bout the child?"

A slight blush of embarrassment spread across England's cheek. "Well…I was getting around to it…" He stared down at his stomach.

"When!? When yuh were too fat to hide it anymore?!" Scotland snapped. "Arthur, we coulda helped…!"

"Alistair, check your anger…" Wales tried to say, but of course was ignored by his redhaired brother.

"I'm old enough to take care of myself, Scotland!" England shot back. "And a baby!"

"How do you explain Sealand, then?" Scotland demanded. "You gave 'im up to Finland and Sweden, fer cryin' out loud! And yuh aren't much older now than you were then!"

"Well…" England started to say.

Scotland sighed and put a hand over England's mouth, silencing in. "Told Francis, by the way. Yuh didn't even tell the father?"

England's eyes widened and he slapped his eldest brother's hand away. "You told France!? Why!? It's not like you're even friends with him anymore!"

"We're tryin' to patch things up again. It's necessary if he's gonna become an in-law an' all that." Scotland went over to the window and opened it so he could smoke.

"He's not going to become an in-law!" England started to climb out of the hospital bed. However, his ego proved to be stronger than his body and he slumped to the floor. Luckily, Northern Ireland was right there to catch him.

"So yer gonna have another bastard child with 'im? 'No strings attached,' aye?" Scotland blew a lungful of smoke out the window and turned his head to look at England. In response, England just said nothing and stared down at the pale tiled floor.

"You really shouldn't stress yourself out, brother." Northern Ireland laid England back down on the hospital bed. "The little one can't appreciate it." He rubbed the slight swell in England's stomach.

"Stop." England batted Northern Ireland's hand away and looked back over to Wales with a sigh. "What happened, anyway? Why am I here?" He would have to worry about France knowing in a bit. He needed to figure out what was happening to him at the moment.

"Lack of nutrition. Again." Apparently, Canada had already told them what he knew. Canada had decent relations with Scotland and the Irelands at least. "You fainted in the middle of a grocery store, and the hospital called me because I'm the closest." The musical brother let out a sigh. "Seriously, _Lloegr_…are you trying to lose the baby?"

"Of course not!" England was appalled by the very idea.

"Then why are you so bad at taking care of yourself?" asked Wales. "I talked to Alfred, too, you know. He said you blew him off before…maybe if he had stayed with you he would have noticed you weren't doing so well."

"That boy doesn't notice a thing!" England shot back. "He wouldn't have noticed at all. Instead—"

"Excusez-moi?" France's voice called out from the door way. The blond stuck his head into the room, looking a bit intimidated by the large amount of Kirklands in the room. England looked up at the doorway and froze. Oh, no…

"Hey, let's get Arthur something to eat!" Northern Ireland spoke up, smiling at his other siblings. "Or at least some tea or something! You three have to come with me or else I'll go get in trouble!" He pushed past France and ran out into the hallway. Wales, Scotland, and Ireland all followed him out – picking up on the hints to leave their brother and France alone.

"Wait, don't leave me…!" England called out after them, but it was too late. It was just him and the frog. The two stared at each other for a few moments in a long, awkward silence.

Finally, France spoke. "So, you are pregnant again, oui?"

England looked down at the sheets. He couldn't look the other in the eye. "…Yes."

"And I am the father?"

"Yes."

France stepped over to the chair beside the bed where Northern Ireland was sitting earlier and gently took England's hand. "…Is this why you have been avoiding me?"

"I didn't think you needed to know. Not yet," England responded.

"Mon amour…" France leaned in to place a kiss on England's clammy forehead. "You didn't need to hide anything from me…"

"I just thought you wouldn't want to-oh." England blinked and placed a hand on his stomach. This only served to worry the Frenchman.

"Mon chéri?" France furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you alright? Is there something wrong with the baby?"

"No, no…" England moved France's hand onto his stomach. "It's kicking! Feel it?"

There was a pause. "I feel nothing, Angleterre. Isn't it a bit too early, anyway? You're…what, seventeen weeks? A little more?"

"I felt it, you frog!" To England's horror, tears began to fill his eyes. "It kicked…a-and you c-can't feel it?"

"Angleterre…please do not get upset." France brushed the tears off the hormonal Brit's cheeks. "I'll feel it as well in due time. That is…if you are willing to let me stay around."

England stared at the other for a moment, just lips quivering and threatening to burst out into tears. He hated feeling this emotional, but he supposed he couldn't really help it. Being around France, however, made him feel somewhat calmer…as if the baby wanted the father around. "….Okay," he whispered at last, giving France a shaky smile. "St-stay with me."

A smile of his own spread across France's face and he pulled England close, planting kisses over the Englishman's cheeks and lips. "I'll make sure you are happy and comfortable. I won't back off when you get hormonal like l'Amerique did."

While this "happy couple" kissed and made up, the rest of the Kirkland family watched from the doorway. "Isn't that so cute?" Northern Ireland gushed quietly, not wanting to attract attention. "Emrys, you need to write a song about it!"

"I'm not sure…" Wales began.

Scotland just snorted. "I give 'em two months before France is kicked out onto his arse again," he muttered.

"Placing a bet on that?" Ireland asked. "I bet they'll last until the birth, and the baby will make them split."

"You guys are horrible!" Northern Ireland scolded his older brothers. "Making bets on when they break up…just watch, they'll stay together!"

"Ye really think so?" Scotland grinned. "How 'bout yuh make a bet on that?"

"…Fine! I bet that they'll stay together!" Northern Ireland said firmly.

Wales just rolled his eyes at his childish siblings and watched the happy couple. He didn't think it was right to make bets on how long the two stayed together…especially since France and England had been on and off since the day they met. It would most likely crumble horribly, but…when Wales saw the light in his little brother's eyes when he was around France and talking about the baby…Wales really hoped that things would turn out as a happy ending. Maybe England would finally be happy for once…


End file.
